Cutting it close
by JL Howie
Summary: AU David Karofsky is a serial killer and his newest victim is none other than Kurt Hummel.  Rated M for future gore
1. Chapter 1

Late at night when you're half asleep, you feel that emptiness pulsing, throbbing, choking you, crying out to you. That intense loneliness kills some people, but I don't feel it. I don't feel anything. I'm a jester of sorts, I pretend, but not for enjoyment, for survival. Being different is wrong; being different can get you killed. I can't be different, that would make everything I've worked towards useless. I've questioned the need to pretend, but all that fighting is useless, you either pretend, or get ostracized. I can't have that.

This school is a prison, it holds me back, violence is my only outlet. How else can I feel? It's not feeling, though, its wasted energy. I still try, I crash into freshman, I harass the faggot, I feel up the girls, disgusting barbaric behavior. That's my mission, though, to get through the day so I can go home and plan. Planning is a beautiful outlet, it takes my mind off of everything, puts it to use, I don't plan just anything, I plan murders.

I've killed 3 times, all blissful experiences. Each of my victims was gay. James Gordon, he was 23. I was in a bar and he hit on me, I took him to my car, choked him to death with his belt, I dumped him in the river, it was fitting, most serial killers dump their victims in a river, that's what I am. A serial killer. John McCollum, 38, he lived alone. I came into his convenience store for a soda and he let slip his sexual preference, I thought it was only fitting that I should have a theme. After days of planning, I caught him after he'd finished closing, dragged him to the alley behind his store, tied him up, and carefully slit his throat. The satisfaction was short lived, though, and I dumped him just like Gordon. Lastly, I killed Frank Karofsky, my uncle. He was cast out from my family, he lived on the south side of town, he led a very quiet, meaningless life, I personally think I did him a favor. He took a liking to me, called me his favorite nephew. He invited me to his house for dinner late last July. I obliged. He hasn't left his basement since, poor thing.

This time is different, I've been planning it since I heard of his existence, sweet little Kurt Hummel, lived down the street, he's been just a bit off since he was a child, his father just said he needed toughening up, but his boy was queer and nothing was going to change that. Planning this since freshman year, I never thought I would be put onto his radar, I think he suspects that there's something more to me than just bullying, I think he hopes it's something good, I don't have to worry about him finding out. Finding out that I'm going to kill him.

I'm 17, someone like me doesn't get questioned by police. Football and hockey player, straight A's, no one suspects me, except for him. I think he can smell it on me, like a sewer rat who can smell fear. So I put my fist down, I pushed him more, threatened him more, the more scared he was, the less likely he was to investigate. I planned a way to lead him off my trail, my notebook was filled with idea on how to get that little shit off my trail, and I thought up the perfect plan, make him think I was on his team, get him to think I was some sort of struggling youth, trying desperately to escape the closet, it was perfect.

So I kissed him. It was forceful, full of anguish, he was terrified, it was perfect. He started running to his friends, and I got scared, a rarity for me, so I let slip I was going to kill him, a promise, he took it as a threat, and left, left the school and me behind. I could breath, I didn't have to worry about being caught with him gone, so I focused on planning, getting him alone, finding his weak spots, getting him to trust me. My notebook was bursting and I wasn't even half done. Kurt Hummel will be my greatest accomplishment.

My father believes in trophies. I have trophies, newspaper clippings, Gordon's class ring. There's a shoebox in my closet full of my trophies. Displaying them would be foolish, so I don't. I steal hours to run my fingers over the headlines, re-reading and absorbing their ignorance.

My name is David Karofsky, I am a monster, it's a fact, I'm not trying to rationalize my obsession. I'm a murderer and I don't have a conscious. I kill for the fun, to smell the sweet fear, the rush of blood and sweat. I live for it, because I don't have anything else, killing keeps me sane. I'm coming for Kurt Hummel, I've been planning it for ages and it's just about time to strike.


	2. Chapter 2

Dave walked up to Hudson in the hall and tapped him quickly on the shoulder. Hudson turned around and jerked back, obviously surprised to find Karofsky touching him.

"Can you get Hu-Kurt to meet me? I want to apologize." Dave shuffled his feet in an effort to look self-conscious. Hudson stared at him then piped up.

"I think I should come with you guys—"

"No, I think I have to do this alone." Dave said hurriedly, cutting the other boy off. Finn eyed him suspiciously, but shrugged and closed his locker.

"Sure, he gets out of school around 3, so you could just go see him there, he'll probably be scared as shit, but you know, you did threaten to kill him." They both grimaced. Dave thanked him then walked towards his class, glancing behind him periodically. It was an annoying habit, but he didn't like being watched.

His hand rushed over the paper, but his mind was elsewhere, his father's key to his van was pushing against his thigh, his throat was dry, his need to kill nearly overpowering him. Dave glanced at the clock often, counting down the seconds till the kill.

David was out of his seat and in the hallway in a second after the final bell; he jogged to his father's van and strapped himself in. He turned the van over and pulled out of the lot before most students had even exited the school.

He smashed "Dalton Academy" into his gps and followed the directions. He sat in silence, his plan rolling over in his brain.

Kurt kissed his boyfriend on the cheek and waved his hand. He strolled out of the choir room into the main hallway, sighing contently. He snatched his keys out of his bag and walked with his head up to the student parking lot. He waved to a few straggling glee members and finally made it to his truck. He notices oil under the front of his hood and he moaned in exasperation. Kurt checked his watch, it was just after 3:30, and he barely had time to get home let alone fix a car problem. He popped his hood anyway, hitting his father's number on speed dial as he walked around to check under the hood.

"Dad? Yeah I think I might be a little late—No, no nothing like that, just something wrong with the oil tank, I can handle it, uhm I'll call you when I'm on the road, bye dad." He hung up, barely letting his father comment. Kurt walked to the back of the truck and grabbed a rag out of the back. He walked back to start wiping the oil off of the equipment when he saw a figure moving towards him across the now empty parking lot. He squinted, trying to make the person out, they were moving quickly and had a backpack swung over their shoulder.

Kurt stepped forward, against his instinct to run away. The figure was only a few parking spaces away now, and Kurt now realized the figure had a mask over his face. That's when he turned and fumbled with his keys, trying desperately to enter his truck. From the corner of his eye he noticed the figure running towards him, faster than before. Kurt turned the key in his truck but it was too late, the man tackled him to the ground. Kurt tried to cry out but the attackers hand quickly covered his mouth. He outweighed Kurt by a good 50 pounds, so Kurt's pounding of fists got him nowhere. He was trapped under this man, who was putting a cord around his hands behind his back. Kurt stifled a sob and tried, to no avail, to make the man unhand him. After Kurt was tied and gagged, the man straightened and pulled a rag out of his backpack. Before Kurt had time to process what was about to happen, his gag was ripped out and replaced with another damp one. He knew what he was inhaling but he had no choice but to breathe. His head swam and soon he was out completely.

Getting Hummel from the ground to his dad's van wasn't hard at all, the boy probably weighed 110 pounds at the most. It was only 4:30 when Dave rolled into the warehouse and carted Hummel to the table. David's last kills had been, quick, simple, but Kurt Hummel was different. If he wanted to flaunt himself out to the world, then he would go out with a bang, a spectacle.

He slammed Kurt's limp body onto the table and began strapping him down with old bungee cables he found in his father's garage. As soon as his body was strapped in, he went up to the boy's head and slapped him firmly on the cheek.

Kurt roused, gaining his consciousness in snatches. He smelled gasoline, saw a glimmer of silver, his face stung, and he felt oddly sore. He tried to speak, but his mouth was full. His eyes popped open in realization. His screams of terror hummed against the gag, he thrashed against the cords, trying desperately to free himself.

The man covered his torso with a large hand and forced all the air out of his lungs, stopping his thrashing and screaming. Kurt looked at the man with frantic eyes and realized the mask had been removed.

Karofsky removed the gag. He though Hummel would start screaming as he had just done, but something had changed in his eyes.

"Ka-Karofsky," Hummel stuttered stupidly, words muffled by his unused tongue. Dave nodded and turned towards another table on which he had laid out the contents of his bag.

"What are you doing?" Kurt choked out, his words watery. Karofsky turned back and let out a sinister laugh.

"I'm keeping a promise." And with that he pulled out a knife. Kurt flinched and tried again to loosen himself from the binds that held him.

"What promise?" Kurt thought the best plan was to engage Karofsky, distract him, and push his concentration away from whatever he planned to do with that knife.

"That I'd kill you." He chuckled and moved closer to Kurt, holding the knife aloft. "Now, my father always said not to play with my food before I eat it, but I think I'll make an exception just this once." He smiled down at Kurt, who looked away.

"I knew you were messed up, but this Karofsky, this is seriously fucked up. You, what? You _kill _people?" Kurt said, still turned away from David and his knife.

"I don't kill people, Hummel. I kill fags." Kurt snapped his head towards David now, his eyes wild with disbelief.

"You kill people based on their sexual preference?" He shrieked in hysteria.

"It's so much more than that. Think of it as ethnic cleansing, Hummel, I'm making the world a better place to live." Kurt struggled again against his bonds.

"You're fucking crazy!" He screamed.

"I'd stop that if I were you," Dave said, holding the kinfe out menacingly. Kurt stopped shaking and just sobbed.

"I thought you were like me, Karofsky, I thought you were gay, trying to cover it up by bullying, but this is twisted, this is—" He cut himself off with a strangled sob. Dave touched the cold metal against Kurt's cheek, feeling the boy shake with sobs beneath it.

"It could all be over so quick, one tiny movement," Dave seemed to be talking to himself.

"How many others?" Dave looked into the boy's watery eyes, and pulled the knife away again.

"Three." Kurt's eyes widened comically, as Dave giggled.

"And they were all—"

"Faggots? Yes." Kurt shuddered.

"Why? Why would you throw away your life for—for this?" His tears were falling quickly now. Dave did not respond, instead he turned to his worktable and pulled from it an electric saw.

"Let's play, Fancy." He smiled and Kurt saw a gleam of red behind his eyes. He started screaming again, barely breathing, sobbing uncontrollably and screaming for mercy after each gulp of air.


End file.
